


Sirens Song

by DragonLover19



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Sirens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonLover19/pseuds/DragonLover19
Summary: Sirens.Half bird people with voices that enchanted sailors that send them to their doom.Yep. That sounded right.But what about the one's who weren't fully sirens?





	1. Stan

Stan sighed as the last customer of the day finally left, shutting the door and locking it. Today’s business had been a long one. A total of five tours were requested all on the same day, all being such big groups as well, crunching his time to prepare in-between each tour and had him skipping out on getting even a minute break. But, money was money. Every last bit of it counts.

He let out a groan, rubbing his back as the dull ach pinched in the lower area. He was sure it was going to be sore tomorrow. Luckily, the Murder Hut would be closed tomorrow, so that meant no tours, which meant he could take a small break.

After he worked some more on the portal.

It’s been a few years since Ford had been lost inside the portal, and Stan was no closer to fixing it ever since he started. The journal he had only contained a small portion of blueprints that did little to help him out.

And it.

Grew.

**Frustrating.**

A deep growl emanated from Stan’s throat, running his hand through his hair. The tips of his fingers tingled with a pinching sensation, one that he was used to feeling. He glanced at his other hand, watching as nails turned into sharp pointed claws.

Keeping the portal a secret was one thing, but that just added to the majority to the other secret he also had to hide from the world.

After all, how would the world react if they found out he was half siren?

<><><><> 

It was at their sixth birthday that they figured out they weren’t normal humans.

Ford was the first to figure it out after he grew his talons and accidentally shredded most of his pillows. Stan was not far behind him, though his bed didn’t fare any better.

It was both shocking and amassing at the same time.

They quickly showed their mother, and that’s when the truth came out.

And when trouble started to show.

<><><><> 

No music.

That was the number one rule of the house.

No music, no songs, no humming, and especially no instruments.

They always found it weird that the house was always quiet, vacant of any noise aside from their ma talking on the phone with a client and Filbrick working the shop below. But now they knew why they didn’t have radio, or a TV, or why their pa never took any instruments that someone would try to sell or pawn off on.

Music was a key to disaster.

That’s why they had to be careful not to hear any music or bad things would happen. At least, that was what their ma told them. But they didn’t worry too much about it. They only just gained their talons, but nothing else.

Their ma suspected that it was because they were half human. So it would probably be years that they would grow wings and gain their siren songs.

If they ever got them.

<><><><> 

It was Ford who got his song.

Just a month after their seventh birthday, Ford had gotten sick. A bad one as well that he was forced to stay home and rest. Stan didn’t leave his side, not even for a minute, taking care of Ford the best he could and making sure his twin was comfortable enough.

His brother was subjected to harsh coughing fits. Harsh enough that Stan was sure he would cough out a lung.

But it wasn’t till later when their ma came to check up on him that the first sounds of his song finally came out.

The song was beautiful, even if it was just a few small notes that lasted only for just a small moment, but it was the most beautiful thing Stan had ever heard.

And their ma was so proud of Ford. She scooped him up into her arms, smiling while babbling away how she would teach him to use his song and how she saw a good future ahead for him and how she was so proud of him and—

And for the first time ever…

Stan was a little jealous of Ford.

<><><><> 

Ma kept spending more and more time with Ford that day on. She kept taking him out when he had free time to a more privet place where she helped him practice his song. Stan always came tagging along on these trips, mostly to watch and listen to his brother singing.

He wasn’t top notched to be a professional but he was good enough for Stan to listen to.

<><><><> 

At the age of ten, Stan got his wings.

It was a Saturday, a day where Ford and him could work on the Stan O War, dreaming about their future and finding joy with just each other.

The pain that shot through his back suddenly took his breath away.

Literally.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe as pain blossomed in his shoulder blades. It strong enough that he doubled over and fell to his side in pain as his twin came rushing over to his side, worry etched into his face and trying some way to help.

All Stan could feel was pain that kept stabbing him and wouldn’t stop, and his brother worrying, and the pain, and wanting it to stop, and he was screaming, and stop stop stop stop _stop stop **stop stop STOP STOP STOP**_ ** _STOP_** ** _STOP_** ** _STOP_** ** _STOP_** ** _STOP_** ** _STOP_** ** _STO-_**

The next thing he knew, ma Pines was holding him in her arms, whispering her full blooded siren song in his ears, petting his hair as she rocked him. The pain was gone and his body felt light and he was slightly aware that Ford was kneeling next to them with tears running down his face and his six fingered with all six talons out hands holding his own five fingered with all his own talons out hands in a tight grip.

He must had blackout at some point as he woke up laying sandwiched between his mother and Ford, angled so that he wasn’t laying any weight on his back. Ford had his arms wrapped around him, holding him close so the Stan’s head rested on his shoulders. The grip was tight, almost protective, as if to shield him from the dangers of the world around them.

Ma was running one hand through his thick locks of hair, humming gently. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, it could have been hours, but there wasn’t any clocks nearby to tell.

Finally, ma had broken the silence when she spoke. “Stanley, we’ll work on dealing with your wings tomorrow. Right now, just rest. Okay baby?”

He never answered, or maybe he did, but the world became black again before he even knew it.

<><><><> 

Ford **_loved_** his wings.

There was no denying it. Every time they were out alone without any mortal in sight, Stan would unfurl his wings out of hiding so the he could stretch them out. Every time Ford would have his eyes glued to them. Watching them unfurl, the every moment and flow, always seemingly eager to want to reach out and touch them.

He could see the way his twin wanted to run his fingers through the golden brown feathers, to examine them to the fullest and see what they could do to the max.

And really?

Stan didn’t mind at all.

<><><><> 

Apparently, the wings could come off.

Stan first discovered this by accident one night. His feathers were molting that night, and in large piles. Filbrick wasn’t too happy about it. So much so, he had Stan out of the house, ordering him in a harsh tone not to come back till his feathers stopped molting.

He could deal with that. Being out of the house felt better anyway.

Ford came tagging along with him, and soon they were walking side by side together, talking about whatever popped into the conversation and laughing at each other’s own little jokes. Their walk led them to the beach, over to the dock where their long time project stayed waiting for them.

Soon they were just sitting on the dock’s end, looking out at the open endless view of the sea. No words or sounds were between them. Only the comfort of the other’s presence was enough for them.

But the night was cold, cold enough that Ford was starting to shiver from it. Stan just laughed when he noticed, taking off his own jacket and held it out for his twin to take.

But Ford didn’t take it.

He stared at it with wide surprised eyes. Looking between Stan and the jacket.

Only…

It wasn’t a jacket…

Stan hadn’t taken a jacket with him…

The brothers stared in mute shock at the fabric in Stan’s hand. The fabric that was soft and gentle to the touch with feathered patterns all over it.

And Stan’s back was bare.

<><><><> 

Ever since they discovered the wings could come off and back on again, they took to sharing it between them as often as they would.

Stan would give his wings to Ford so that his twin could experience flying on his own, trying them out and using them as he pleased. Often times, he would give his wings to his brother when he was stressed. His twin would hug it close to his chest, burying his face deep within the fabric.

It helped Ford calm his nerves as the years went by.

So when the big important science fair project was coming up, he didn’t hesitate to hand the wings over to his twin when he asked, knowing for certain that things would be okay.

<><><><> 

Things were not okay.

It was anything but okay.

His life had been ruined in just one single moment, all because of his actions.

The Stanmobile sat outside the New Jersey borders on the sideline of the road. Its owner sat on the trunk, head bowed and legs tucked close to his body.

He had just been thrown out of the only place he ever called home. Disowned by the man who he called his father.

All because he accidentally broke the machine that could have given his family millions. All because his actions cost everything in one fail swoop. All because he was so selfish and stubborn and idiotic that he couldn’t even keep his temper down and his mouth shut.

Now he had lost everything.

The place he call home.

Any given contact he had to family.

And worst of all.

His twin and his wings.


	2. Stan

The first year after he was kicked out was hell.

He honestly didn’t know what to expect or what to do.

Making any money to survive was harder than it looked. He was slowly seeing why Filbrick was so stingy with money.

Finding a safe place to stay was in some cases not easy. He had his car, but that hardly gave him any protection from the cold nights, and not to mention how uncomfortable it is to sleep in it.

Food was the biggest problem. There were some nights where he got lucky enough to snag a small snack or two to eat. Other times, he went weeks without food.

The pain of an empty stomach was hard to ignore.

And it didn’t help that his siren heritage put a big wall to his survival.

He didn’t have the siren’s song, but he did have the strength and power of one. But there was also the big problem of trying not to listen to music.

That put him in an even tighter problem.

<><><><> 

It was probably the middle of the third year he found the old thing.

Not that it was old. It still looked to be freshly made and new. But it did hold a few dents, scratches, chips and worn down slightly that it was enough to fool anyone that it was older than it looked.

He came across it by mistake.

Being run out of a state wasn’t how he planned his product to end. Badly.

Hiding out in the woods was the best option. The night gave him some cover just in case they were still after him. It was when he checked around to make sure there was no one after him that his eyes landed on the case.

Propped up against a tree stump, out in full view for anyone to see.

Why? He would never know.

Curiosity quickly peeked his interest right then. So much that he went over and decided to take a full view of the whole thing. Right off the bat he identified it as a violin case. The deep brown stood out with the elegant cravings of music notes carved into the casings wood.

His curiosity didn’t stop there however. No, he was just getting more curios by the second.

All his youth, not once had he been this close to anything thing that was related or was a source to music. The restrainments of being a siren half breed had plenty of its down sides. He stayed away of such things even more when Ford was still learning to control his song.

But now? Being so close to such things that were forbidden to him as a child that now was presented to him like an early Christmas present, the excitement was too pleasing to pass up.

Eagerly, he let his hands brush against the wood, finding the locks and taking them off with ease. The feeling was just the same when he was a kid. Curiosity filling his motivation, eagerness of adventure burning under his skin. He hadn’t felt this good in years.

Opening the case, it was hard to say he was surprised to see the instrument there. But being so close to one for the first time brought a smile on his face. A real smile.

A violin.

Dark wood furnishing that was made with top handcrafting with only the best skills to do so. Both instrument and its bow were in top condition despite how they looked.

He kept staring at it for probably thirty minutes before he closed the lid, taking the whole thing back to his car and tossing it into the back seat.

The thought of selling the old thing for some cash crossed his mind as he got into the driver’s seat.

<><><><> 

The first note came out screechy. Hardly pleasant to his sensitive ears. The second note was hardly any better than the first.

Each note he tried to play, it only sounded terrible and hurt his ears to listen.

He gave up on the eleventh note.

A few days past and he tried again, only this time he tried tuning it. The notes… were still terrible.

It ended at note number seven.

Every place that was secluded enough for him to hide from the world, he found himself always turning back to the violin he found the year before.

Behind an abandoned theater.

Gave up on the third try of tuning it.

At a highway that nobody goes to so help was hardly an option when the car breaks down.

Trying and failing to find the right tune with the right notes.

Sleepless nights in the car, starving and cold.

Clutching the instrument close, brushing its strings tenderly like it was the best companion he ever had and would barely live with himself if he lost it. Soft notes come for the strings as his fingers fiddled with them with his claws out, tuning it a bit here and there till it starts to sound better. Even if it’s only a little.

Hiding out in the forest after escaping Rico’s goons as it started to rain, blood dripping down his talon fingers that was looking more birdlike than human, clutching the duffle bag with his most cherished item close to his chest.

He was out of breath, running for who knows how long now. Silent thanks’ were sent to his mother for gaining some of her heritage to survive and her warnings. Feather Snatchers, what his ma used to call them, were harder to get away from than the normal gangsters and angry store owners. She would always tell stories about them after their claws grew in. Always warning them to be wary of people as they went out, to never trust anyone that tried to come near with a special stick that numbed your body completely.

Good thing one of Rico’s men was a newbie, otherwise he’d be a goner.

Stan sighed in relief once he was sure he was safe, running one down his neck where one of the goons managed to nick him. He froze. Carefully, Stan warped his fingers around the item, grunting a bit as his pulled it off his skin and brought it into view.

His skin paled.

A small tracker blinked in the palm of his hand. With a growl, he crushed the small device. They tagged him! No wonder they weren’t following him the moment he escaped. They were just letting him run around till he tired out!

Which only meant—

Guns clicked and for a moment he went blind as a light shined straight at him. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that he was surrounded by seven men, all pointing their guns at him with the light coming from a spotlight on the hood of a jeep. With Rico in it.

“Bueno, mi amigo emplumado, parece que esta vez no tienes suerte.” Rico snicker.

“Sí. No, gracias a usted bolsa de la suciedad.” Stan spat back, pressing his back against the tree. He couldn’t run, he was surrounded. He couldn’t take them on. They would just shot him down the moment he made a wrong move. The light was harsh on his eyes, but he could make out one figure that he recognized easily as the newbie. Blood was still trailing down his face from where Stan had slashed him.

“Fuiste muy divertido. La mayoría de las cacerías en estos días ha carecido del fuego que usted tiene.” Rico took a drag from his cigar, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth. “Usted conseguirá un buen precio para los clientes.”

“¡Demonio!”

A dark laugh echoed as lighting flashed through the sky. Rico turned his attention to his men. “Make sure he’s unable to escape this time.” With that, he drove off, leaving Stan to his fate.

Stan clutched the bag close to him, shooting dark glares at each of Rico’s men who were getting closer with each step.

“What’s in the bag?”

The question startled him a bit, being more startling that it was the newbie who said it.

“What?” One of the other men, one next to the newbie, asked. Probably just as confused as Stan by the random question.

“The bag.” The newbie jerked his head at Stan’s direction. “What’s in it?”

“Nothin’.” Stan growled, showing off his teeth that had grown sharp and pointed. It didn’t stop them from getting any closer.

“Looks like bird man has something he doesn’t want us to see.” One man snickered.

The others started to snicker along with him, stepping closer with confidence. One of the men that was closest to Stan grabbed the bag tearing it out of his grip. Stan made a sound of protest, moving to try and get the bag back, but the others were closer to him now, threatening to shoot if he moved any more.

So instead he watched as the man opened the bag and pulled out the case, eyeing it over. “What the heck?” He opened the case, taking out the violin. “What’s a guy like you carrying around a violin for? I thought you sirens hate music.”

“We do.” Stan growled, fighting back his every instinct to pounce the guy and take back the violin.

The man examined the instrument, looking at it back and forth. “You play bird man?”

“Are you kidding? Sirens can’t stand the sounds of instruments.” One of the other men piped up. “If they even hear a note, it makes them spazz out in pain. It’s hilarious to watch!”

The men laughed. Stan hated it. It was true. Music really did hurt. It was a mistake that Stan never wanted to experience again.

“Hey! Play this guy some music! I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it!”

Stan flinched as the man holding hi-the violin placed it on his shoulder, closing his eyes tightly as he waited for the pain.

…

…

…

…

When the pain didn’t happen, he slowly opened one eye in confusion. The man holding the violin was running the bow over the strings, looking confused as the others.

Not a single note came out.

<><><><> 

The last tour for the day was the longest he had to deal with. So many questions and so many annoying brats trying to get their little grubby hands on everything. He was lucky that he kept his anger in check, otherwise he wasn’t sure what would happen if his claws came out.

He sighed deeply as he locked the door and flipped the sign over. He needed to vent before he broke something.

The case was still where he left it, snatching it up and bringing it with him as he headed out into the forest. It had been a few years since Ford had been stuck on the other side of the portal, and he still had no luck finding his other journals. He did however find a good spot that was far away from human ears to listen and solitude enough for him and his Lorelei.

The open field was empty, free of any visitors that didn’t come here often except for him. Tree line behind him, open area in the front. Nothing but him and Lorelei.

A fallen tree served as the perfect place to sit down and open the case, taking out his Lorelei and making sure she was tuned right before taking out her bow. With her familiar weight on his left shoulder and bow in his right hand, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

And played.

He didn’t play a song, he only played with his feelings. His thoughts, his memories. Lorelei sang them as he drawing her bow against her strings, letting his feelings be his guide and his memories be his song. She sang of his happy times. Bright, happy, enchanting. She cried with his sad times. Lost, scared, betrayed, lonely, broken. She screamed his anger out. Fury, wild, burning, blinding, hot.

She told his tale, she sang his heart, she soothed his aching soul.

And she only played for him.

Her words were only for him. Her song could only be played by his hands and no one else.

No one else was allowed to hear her music, and no one had the privilege to play her with such care.

The last of her music faded as he came to the end, slowing her music to a stop, feeling lighter and satisfied than he did this morning. He stayed siting there, holding Lorelei in his arms as the winds carried away the last of her notes away, drifting off into the unknown far away.

Stan didn’t say anything as he put her back in her case. He didn’t acknowledge the animals or monsters that gathered at the tree line as he passed them. He just went back to the shack, placing her on the table and headed down for another go at the portal.

<><><><> 

Soos was a strange kid.

And not by his looks.

The gopher kid liked to follow him around like a shadow, awing at every little thing he did and following his every command without a hint of hesitation. He wasn’t the best handyman he ever had, but he wasn’t the worst either. He kinda liked having him around.

Kid kept the place clean, fixed what he could on his own, and was a nice person to chat with on slow days.

Maybe he was too comfortable having him around.

“ _WHOA!_ Mr. Pines! You grew claws!”

Stan froze, staring at the young twelve (was he twelve? He looked twelve) year old boy who was staring at his hands. His talon clawed hands. He cursed inwardly, knowing he should have grabbed scissors instead and—

“That’s so cool dawg! Is it a new gig for the tours?”

Stan blinked.

Soos was looking at him with the same look most wonder eyed children get when they enter someplace new full of wonder and mystery. The same look that held loyalty and trust, curiosity that held together with awe of a solved mystery.

He looked at his hands. Claws still out and shining in the light. “Uh… yeah sure. It’s a gig I’ve come with a couple days back. Still in the making.”

“Cool!”

“Heh, okay okay. Now get back to sweeping.”

“Yes sir!” The kid did a hand solute and went back to sweeping the floors.

When he was alone with Lorelei after Soos went home, her song sang of the little gopher boy for nearly an hour.

<><><><> 

“Lorelei? What’s that mean Mr. Pines?”

Stan looked up from the wad of cash in his hands, eyeing Soos a bit before looking away. “Song that lures men to their doom.”

Soos had Lorelei in his hands, gloves on as Stan instructed him to have on whenever he handled Lorelei. Her name gleamed in the light from the proud place Stan carved her name in.

“That’s kinda deep. Why would you give it—” Stan cleared his throat. “Her. A name like that?”

Stan shrugged, putting the money back in the register and taking Lorelei in his hands. “It fits her I guess. The first song I ever played from her… you know.”

Soos nodded and left it like that.

<><><><> 

Wendy frowned, plucking at the strings at different locations. But no matter how hard she plucked, nothing came out of the old thing.

“Told you dude.” Soos took the violin after she sighed and gave up. “Doesn’t play anything if you’re not Mr. Pines.”

“How does he do it? There’s no way he can play that thing himself.” She picked up the stick, looking at it in every angle, hoping it would show her how the old man played the old instrument and how no one else could.

She first thought that Stan had some record playing device hidden up his sleeve, but she saw him play it while in his undergarments, so that idea was out. No matter what or how, the old thing just never made a sound if Stan wasn’t the one playing it.

“I don’t know. All I know is that Mr. Pines is the only person who can play it. Heck! There was this one dude who claimed to be the best musician in town and he couldn’t even get a note out of it!” Soos took the stick away, wiping it down before setting it back in the case with the violin. “Maybe it has something to do with Stan not being human.”

“Could be.” Wendy shrugged. She knew Stan wasn’t human. Firsthand experience at a young age showed it. Along with the old geezer bribing her to keep quiet about it, but hey, she wasn’t one to gossip. “Still, I really want to know how he does it.”

“Maybe someday.” Soos tucked the case away behind the false wall. “But let’s not tell Mr. Pines we touched Lorelei without his knowing. He _reeaally_ cares about her.”

“Whatever man. These lips ain’t yapping.” Wendy walked back to the register, still thinking of how Stan played the old thing.

<><><><> 

He wasn’t sure what made him say yes, but he did.

He wasn’t sure what made him say yes, but there they were.

He wasn’t sure what made him say yes, but now there was no way for him to change his mind.

Now the shack had three people living in it with sirens blood in them.

They already grew their claws, and the boy had his song and his twin grew her wings.

It was painful sometimes to watch them with his own memories of his young rearing its ugly head.

They were careful to not listen to any music and kept far away from anyone else the first week, but there was no way he was going to let them stay cooped up all summer worrying about their gifts.

Hiding Mabel’s wings were easy. A bag (“A PINK ONE! With unicorns and rainbows and colors on it! And SPRINKLES!”) with holes cut out in the back did the trick. And her sweaters did a nice number as well.

Dipper was the hard case. There was no way he could avoided going into town and not hear music playing. (It took more times than he could count how long it took him before he could go there and block out the music.)

Fishing around, he eventually found something that could help. Ford always had something that could help if he searched hard enough.

They looked close enough to being hearing aids, but Stan knew he brother had tweaked these little devices. Small and round, they fit right into the kid’s ear holes. Sure he wasn’t too okay with it, but the look on his face was priceless.

Good thing Sixer made some spares for sister to have as well.

<><><><> 

He swore that he would protect the kids. And he was going to keep it.

Siren or not, nothing was going to stop him from looking after them this summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my feathered friend, looks like you're outta of luck this time.
> 
> Yeah. No thanks to you dirt bag.
> 
> You were a fun one to catch. Most hunts these days has lacked the fire that you have. You will fetch a fine price for the customers.
> 
> Demon!


End file.
